You Can't Live Without Your Heart
by EternalCorruption
Summary: A death of a loved one has Harry tied up in a Funeral Home, watching the lifeless body in front of him with unshed tears that he couldn't seem to cry. (Angst, Drama... PG-13 for Language)


**A/N:** _This is a short angsty part of myself that I remembered, after attending to three funerals of three people I held very close to me, and having another friend pass away as well. I figured that I'd put what I felt into words, and with a little twist on it…_   
  
  


**You can't live without your heart**

  
  
  
  
I realize, sitting here now, how grateful I was.   
  
Grateful for what? For losing someone? For having my heart torn from my chest and thrown onto the ground, stomped over by everyone else I held dear and respected? No… That's not being grateful. That's just succumbing to weakness… I shouldn't have that weakness; I'm a Gryffindor! Gryffindors are brave… valiant… And I'm being so incredibly weak.   
  
  
I could feel it again; the heavy rush of my heart beating in my chest and the blood clogging up my ears. Is what I'm feeling real? Why? What is it? Why is this what it is? Why can't it be something else? Something that would just go away? No… That's asking too much, and for that, I am selfish.   
  
  
Selfish. Selfish, because I yearned for more than what I had. I yearned for some other feeling… something less… less undivided and gaping! Why can't I do anything right? Why isn't anything… why could I have done something more?   
  
  
All of a sudden, I feel numb again. My consciousness seems to have faded and all that I sense is the darkness and gloom that surrounds me. Impeccable… undesirable. I can't feel anything but myself and the emptiness that engulfs my pitiful self.   
  
  
I can't cry… the burning in the corner of my eyes has to wear itself away; I'm not going to succumb to its powerful pull on my senses. Crying is for the weak, and I'm not weak. I can't be weak, but my eyes are brimming with unshed tears and my throat is so thickly clenched that it's becoming so hard to breath.   
  
  
My tongue is dry, swimming in my mouth like a fish flopping while stranded out of water, begging for the wonderful oxygen gracing across its gills, but I ignore it. It would be selfish of me to think of my own impulses. This isn't for me. I've already had my share of selfishness.   
  
  
Suddenly, I become aware of the people around me. Sniffles, sobs… the shaking of limbs and the stench of unshed tears fill the room. They're all mourning… They all feel this pain too… but… why does it seem that mine is worse? That my pain is so much harder for them to endure?   
  
  
Silent tears trickle down my cheeks, but I pay no attention to them. Instead, my gaze is focused on the casket in front of me, deep and rich in its wooden glory… perfectly presentable for the lithe body inside… the lifeless being that once was full of so much life, and passion…   
  
  
So why did it have to be now? Why did this have to happen when everything was just starting… it wasn't supposed to end! This is ludicrous, bullshit! I won't have it… I won't accept this.   
  
  
Then why am I sitting here?   
  
  
Because I care.   
  
  
But what do I care for? What is it that I see? What is it that makes my pain so much more horrible to endure that I cannot shed my tears?   
  
  
Why is it that I can't call out?   
  
  
It's partially because I can't breath. My throat is so tight that my mouth is beginning to feel the after affects.   
  
  
I stand, walking to the casket and grabbing a large silver handle which feels abnormally cold under my skin. I almost choke over my tears that I can't seem to rid myself of. I can't part with them… they're a memory.   
  
  
We haul the casket to the hearse and slide it in. 'I'm right here!' is what I want to call out… but I realize, now, that you can't hear me. That's the finality of this. You can't hear me.   
  
  
The hearse drives along, leading a parade of mourning persons to the place where you shall forever lay. The cemetery… the cemetery where we'll be able to visit you, to talk to you, though we cannot see you, and you can't hear us. Are our efforts fruitless?   
  
  
There it is; it's looming right before us. A large green canopy, fur-covered seats wrapped around a mound underneath the small sanctuary. The hearse pulls into a stop, and we climb out of the vehicle that follows in close pursue. Once again, we grab the silvery, cold shafts and carry you… you and the coffin… to the burial ground where you shall be laid.   
  
  
Your coffin is set on the large ropes that hold you steady, and people are filing around now. The fur-covered seats are filled in by your family, who are crying helplessly into their soaked handkerchiefs, leaving the rest of your guests standing. My heart heavied with pity. They were suffering a worse loss than I… Or was it the other way around?   
  
  
We stand like this for a while… gazing at the soft, gleaming wood, vision clouded by watery eyes, sniffling and feeling sorry for themselves.   
  
  
Just like I'm doing now. Pitying themselves.   
  
  
I miss your god damned smile, your god damned face, period. Come back… Jesus, come the fuck back! Don't leave me the fuck alone; I don't know what I'm doing! I can't even cry without you… I can't tell what my head is trying to tell me… except that I need you here… not there!   
  
  
Another tear has trudged its path along my tear-gleaming cheek. I let out the first sound since I've come here; a small sigh of exhasperation. A moment later, I fall to my knees.   
  
  
My fingers are raking through my hair, my body twisting in multiple sobs that I can't seem to control. I've lost it… I've finally lost it. I'm nothing! Nothing without you here with me, can't you see that?   
  
  
You're so heartless, leaving me here… Going off by yourself without a single goodbye! How do you think we feel? How do you think we're going to move on? Or did you think of that?   
  
  
My throat feels raw and numb, and I find it still hard to breath. My hair is still being onslaught by my fingers, my forehead banging into the ground below me, my mind screaming all the while, "FUUUUUUCCCK YOU! FUCK YOU! GOD DAMN YOU! WHY? WHY COULDN'T YOU AT LEAST SAY YOUR FUCKING GOODBYES? WHY DID YOU JUST LEAVE ME HERE?"   
  
  
There's a hand on my back, and I'm quite sure it's your mothers… the touch is soft and gentle, warm and compassionate. She squeezes my shoulder gently and I look up, facing her swollen face, damp from the areas the handkerchief had failed to sop up.   
  
  
She managed to say something, but what, I couldn't hear. My head was pounding, my heart racing so fast that I didn't take, or have the time to notice. My only worry right now was how I would live without you. How I would find my way in the world without you.   
  
  
But why hadn't I told you this before? Why hadn't I told you that I couldn't live without you? That I loved you, that I _cared_?   
  
  
I curled up into a fetal position, resting there until they began lowering you down, along with the multiple flowers that your loved ones placed upon your casket. The only movement I made was to watch you lowered down… and I returned, once again, to my fetal position.   
  
  
Many people left, then. Many people drove off in their cars, or apparated away, obviously having something else to do. Didn't they realize… didn't they know what I felt? What I was going through? I had lost somebody! I had lost my life, my joy… Everything that made me!   
  
  
But they're too important for that.   
  
  
They're only here to give pity to your Mum and Dad.   
  
  
I only left when the minister began to get angry. I came back the next day, at the crack of dawn, and laid next to your freshly filled-in grave. I cried my silent tears, never once saying a thing. How could I say anything? I didn't know how… nothing seemed to work.   
  
  
I brought something with me, this time. Something that would make me feel much better in the end. A little glimmer of hope tickled the corners of my mouth. I broke the head of the razor, extracting the thin pieces of metal that glinted sharply in the rising sun.   
  
  
This would be for you.   
  
  
I took the first thin piece of metal and placed it firmly between my index finger and my thumb, holding it over the delicate, thin flesh over my left wrist. With a violent slanted slash, my skin was seared open, and almost instantly blood flowed freely onto the ground beneath me. I repeated the same process on my other wrist.   
  
  
The last thing I remember is seeing the sun, and the lazy purple hue surrounding it.   
  
  
But I woke up. Was this heaven? Was this hell? Where were you at?   
  
  
I was in a much worse place, indeed. A hospital, with my wrists bandaged, my body chained down by magic, no doubt. I gave an uneasy squirm, protestant cries escaping my mouth.   
  
  
But now I'm here… Standing over your grave with nothing but a picture of us together, and a vile of my blood… something that would last for almost forever. I bent down, unscrewed the cap of the vile, and let its contents frow freely from its tip. You would have me here, always with you this way. I took the picture and propped it up next to your tombstone.   
  
  
I'm walking away, now, only glancing back to read, one last time,   
  
  


_Hermione Granger   
  
The light of our darkness_


End file.
